


Echoes

by thelogicalloganipus (awkwardkermitfrog)



Category: Sanders Sides
Genre: Gen, Sanders Sides - Freeform, my first human au, this is gonna be a hella heavy fic, tw abuse, tw fighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-15 00:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13601349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardkermitfrog/pseuds/thelogicalloganipus
Summary: Do I need another project? No! But here we are!Warnings for this chapter: There's fighting and some parental abuse.





	1. Roman

 

 

He learned the hard way.

That was the least of it. 

Tastes of metallic, cool blood filled his mouth as he felt something, a fist he was sure, smack into his jaw. Roman spat, coughing, sputtering, feeling the pain richotte through his mouth and neck, bouncing from nerve to nerve. Hazy, dizzy, he shook his head, one fist still up, brown eyes looking at his bully with reproach, his other hand moving to his mouth. His fingers licked blood from his lip and he stumbled, other hand lowering. 

“Come on, Roman, you’re- you’re a loser.” Mark said through huffed breaths. 

The chants of FIGHT-FIGHT-FIGHT seemed distant to Roman, the crowd around them in another world, protecting them from the outside. A bubble of bully and victim, another world where punches in the face on school property were somehow accepted. 

Before Roman could react, a throw to the gut. Wind knocked out of him, he reeled backwards, staring for an infinite second at the blue sky, white clouds dotting the skyline, sunlight burning.

“Break it up!”

He was being pulled back, pulled away, as if he’d thrown the last punch. He shoved a teacher off of him, pointing, shouting, before his arm was gripped and he was steered, with some force, to the principal’s office.

* * *

 

_ Loser. _

The word echoed, his skull an empty cave, void of sound and thought, as an authority told him he was suspended. He looked up from his the static of thought as the man asked him if he understood that he would not be allowed on school grounds for one week.

“Yes sir.” Roman nodded, not listening.

“You understand that your actions were very serious and that we cannot ignore them?” The man asked. Roman glanced at the name on his desk - Matthew Davis - and nodded. 

“Yes, Mr. Davis.” 

“I know that you’re… a special kid.” Indicated by his letterman’s jacket. “But if you retaliate, I have to punish you as well.” Mr. Davis continued. No special treatment for basketball players. That was reserved for footballers. “It’s school policy.” 

Roman looked at the foot of the desk, face hot, all the feeling leaving his stomach.  _ A special kid. _ He shook his head, a nod, a yes. He understood. As if he had a choice.

He stood up at some point, he wasn’t sure when, and gave the principal a nod before walking out a dark wooden door into darker halls.

It seemed signs of students, signs of life, were hanging onto the end of the day like dust on moth’s wings. He walked up to his locker, hand turning the combination, fingers responding automatically to clicks in the quiet. A maroon hoodie hung on the hook. At the bottom were piles of papers, assignments that were overdue, a diary. Roman pushed the jacket aside, revealing at the back of the locker a photo of a young man. A small photo. A small secret. 

He put on the jacket and sniffed, neck sore, and withdrew his algebra textbook, ignoring the track team running their laps behind him, freezing up a moment, listening, wondering if they were talking about the fight earlier that day. The squeaks of their shoes and huffs of their breathing passed him by without incident, and soon the last echo of the sound reverberated off the concrete hall, away from him.

He looked down, after them, and began to turn away, but then jumped, seeing one last runner breathing hard, hands on her knees. He walked up, looking at her, jacket still in hand, locker still open. 

“Are you okay?” His voice was soft, surprising himself.

“Ye-yeah.” The student lied, brushing brown hair from her face. “Exer-cis…. Induced… exercise induced asthma.” 

“Oh.” Roman nodded, watching her face change as she finally looked at him, still gasping. He did his best to ignore it. “Why do track if you can’t breathe?”

“It’s silly.” She shook her head, muttering, “it’s stupid,” more to herself than him. He watched as she stood up, stretching her arms over her head, working out a stitch in her side, walking away from him. “Gotta catch up, coach will kill me if he catches me walking. Bye!”

“Bye.” Roman gripped his jacket tightly, staring after her until the reflection on the waxed floor disappeared into a corner, her wheezing and squeaking shoes disappearing with her. He stood there a moment, in the strange silence, the air closing in around him, pressing on his body, and wondered if he too was having trouble breathing. 

* * *

 

The back door was better than the front. It was quieter. 

He slipped open the door quickly. He found that when he opened it quickly, it didn’t squeak. Every now and then, Roman thought about buying oil, but it never happened. It was difficult to buy things when you didn't’ have money. 

Step. Step. Look. Listen. 

Hold your breath.

Take another step, stop. That spot on the floor creaked. 

The television was on in the other room, he could hear that. He wondered, staring, still frozen, if it was loud enough. 

“Roman, is that you?”

His mother’s voice. He let out a breath. 

Roman stepped around the corner, backpack over his shoulder, looking at his mother. He swallowed, hoping she continued to stare at the screen, not looking at him.

“Hi, mom.” 

“How was school today?” She asked, fat eyes glued to the program. 

“Good.” A lie. Roman stood, frozen. “I need to get some homework done.” That was true. 

“Really... because we got a call that you’ve been suspended for a week.” She looked at him. He was surprised by her tone, a voice of apology. “You’re lucky I got to it before your father.” 

“Right.” Roman nodded. He urged his legs to move. They didn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened to your face?” She asked stupidly. 

“That’s… kind of why I’m suspended.” Roman shrugged, wanting to crawl away, wanting to walk straight out, back outside, anywhere but here. “Are you gonna tell dad?”

“I think I have to. You’re going to be here all week and he’s going to want to know why.” She began to stand, body slow and flabby, moving with difficulty, grunting several times. “I’ll get you some… some ice.” She panted. 

“No - that’s fine. I’ll get it.” Roman gulped as his mother finally freed herself from the chair and glanced at the television. It was a show he didn’t recognize, something about crime and criminals. “Please don’t tell dad. I’ll get out of the house during school hours, just please don’t tell dad.” 

“Roman, honey, he’s your father. He needs to know.” She began to walk heavily to the kitchen, around him, ignoring the many dirty plates and piles of old food, opening the freezer and retrieving an ice pack. She turned towards him and he took it, nodding, heart sinking, resigned. 

“Please.” Roman whispered. “Please don’t. Please, mom. I can just go outside during school hours, I’ll come home at night. I promise I will.”

“I have to tell him. He is your father, he needs to know.” His mother said thickly. She began to sit, with difficulty, grunting, extra flesh falling over the edge of the chair, and didn’t look at him as he stared at her. 

* * *

 

 

Quiet. Be quiet.

He sat by the small television in his room, volume low, one headphone in the jack of the tiny T.V., and glanced at a watch he used to keep time. His father would be home any minute.

He looked again at the television, a cartoon playing, and tried to ignore the flipping of his stomach, the anticipation. The anticipation was worse, it seemed. The uncertainty. The waiting. Who would open his door? His father, loving, ready to take him out for milkshakes? His father, indifferent, not cooking him dinner? His father, furious, pounding on the door, throwing objects, screaming? 

He jumped at the sound of an incredibly loud thud, the sound of a fist on wood.

His father, furious.

He turned off the television and took out the headphones, quickly stuffing them in his pocket, not bothering to wrap the cord properly and hugged his knees, blood racing through his body. He closed his eyes and waited.

Another thud. Now on his door. He shrank in spite of himself. 

“Roman! Get your ass out here! Now!”

_ Move. Move or he’ll come in here. Move. _

He heard his father pound on the door again, shaking the house, and wailing sound, quieter. His mother.

He stood up, but it wasn’t fast enough - the door swung open. His father, a shorter, balding man stomped towards him, face red with fury, jowls shaking.  

“Dad.” Roman swallowed. The guys from the team would laugh if they could see him now, frightened, powerless. The cheerleaders would laugh at him standing her, shaking, fearful. Not the brave, cocky Roman they knew - the real Roman, the Roman that fear parents, the Roman that was afraid of the dark and silence and being alone for too long. 

There was a beat, his father staring at him, vein in his temple throbbing.

“Do I not give you a bed? Food? A place to sleep? An education?” 

Roman bit his cheek, hard. His teeth locked there. He looked at the mattress on the floor of the room, lacking sheets, two blankets and one pillow. He ignored the growl in his stomach. He ignored his trembling lip. 

“Yes sir.”

“Now you want to get in fights?” His father shook his head. “Do you even care about your future? Your grades? Do you even give a damn about the life you’re gonna have if you get into fights? Do you give a damn if you end up in prison?” 

“Like you do.” Roman froze.  _ No _ . He slipped.  _ No. No. No. _ “I didn’t mean that.”

“Damn right you didn’t.” His father whispered, now deadly. Roman watched, helpless, as the man walked over to his television and picked it up, yanking the cord out of the wall. “You can have this back when you learn some respect for your elders.” 

Roman nodded, staring at his only distraction from his life hanging in his father’s arms. 

“Do you understand?” 

“Yes sir.” Roman whispered. He felt like his body was sinking through the floor as he watched the television - such a simple thing - be carried away. The door slammed and he sank to his knees, quietly as he could, staring at the door trembling. 

“It could’ve been worse.” He quietly reassured himself. “It could’ve been a whole lot worse.” 


	2. Alexis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for an OC?  
> No warnings for this chapter.

 

Three strokes, three brushes there. Four more. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

A thud.

Alexis jumped, tearing slightly at her auburn hair, frowning, and sighed. She’d lost count

She began again, thinking of the strokes and not of track practice, which would take place later. Her shoulders and stomach ached, crying out, as she counted the strokes.

* * *

 

Breakfast didn’t mean anything to Alexis. She laid there, dressed, in bed, waiting for the knock on the door telling her it was time to go. Shoes and all.

Sometimes, Alexis wondered why bother going. She didn’t feel particularly smart. Especially with a brother like him.

Two knocks.

Alexis sat up and looked at her brother in the doorway, looking at her with that same exasperated look he wore every day.

“Seriously, one of these days you’re going to fall asleep. You should drink coffee and eat a good breakfast like a normal human being.” 

She scoffed and walked out around him, straightening her button up shirt, walking out the door, putting on her jacket, regretting that there was a track practice tonight. Year round, they said they’d be training year round.

How silly.

In the car, her brother started the engine, backing out and glaring at her as she changed the radio station from pop to alternative. 

“I like it better.” She shrugged.

He didn’t change it back.

* * *

  
  


“Hey, Alexis, do you think Logan would help me on this homework? I’m stumped.” 

Alexis sighed. “Ask him. He’ll be here momentarily.”

Being a twin had its ups and downs.

* * *

  
  


Alexis thought about her math quiz in the bathroom at lunch, wondering why she hadn’t taken an ounce of Logan’s abilities in math and science. She stuck her tongue out and got some lip gloss from her pocket, smearing it on, the pink stuff glittering against her pale mouth. She drew the lips together and rubbed them, wondering.

The toilet behind her flushed and out came another young girl, this one with blond hair. “I don’t know why you bother with lip gloss. You should really get some chapstick for it, you know?”

“Then I might stop biting them. But…” Alexis pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and sighed. “I dunno.”

“You dunno… what?”

“I just don’t know.” Alexis frowned and put it back in her pocket, watching her beautiful friend fix her hair. “You look fine.”

“Thanks.” She went on fixing her hair.

* * *

 

In homeroom, calling roll call, sitting there for SSR (Silent Sustained Reading), Alexis felt him behind her shoulder, almost watching her. She pulled her shoulders in and attempted to hide the book from him, from the world. It was her book, her reading. Not his.

She swung around and saw him glance up at her, unperturbed, then confused. “What?” He mouthed.

“Nothing.” She hissed, turning back. Paranoid. Always paranoid. 

It was one thing to be a twin, but another entirely to be the twin of Logan Goubert. 

* * *

  
  


She ran horribly. 

At track practice people lapped her on the stairs. Weak ankles, she explained. Exercise induced asthma, she explained.

The team always beat her, always. No matter how much she wanted to impress Ashley, Ashley ran ahead of her easily. There was never any competition - only time, it seemed, to try and catch her breath now and again, away from the scrutiny of a coach.

She jogged behind the rest of them, walking, sighing, hands on her knees, and looked up to see a boy looking at her. 

He’s cute.

No. Stop that.

“Are you okay?” She was surprised at the tenderness in his voice.

“Ye-yeah.”  She nodded, clearly lying. “Exer-cis…. Induced… exercise induced asthma.” 

“Oh.” He nodded. Then he looked confused. “Why do track if you can’t breathe?”

“It’s silly.” She shook her head. “Stupid.” She muttered to herself. Then she realized she didn’t want to be there a moment longer.“Gotta catch up, coach will kill me if he catches me walking. Bye!”

She jogged away, breathing hard, and wondered if it was her imagination or if she’d heard him say, “Bye.”

* * *

  
  


“Alexis, can we talk?” 

She didn’t look at the door, absorbed in her alternative radio station and drawing. She held up one hand. “They’re about to say what the band is. It’s a special thing they do once a night. If I call in or text in - they might keep playing it and I like it.”

Logan nodded. He sat down on the floor across from her, watching her study the radio with fascination. “It might be online later.”

Alexis nodded. “Hmm.” She wrote down the band name as the DJ relayed it. 

“On a more serious note, you keep looking at me during SSR as if I’m watching you. I do not know what to make of it. I am not watching you.” Logan frowned. “Do I make you uncomfortable? Perhaps I can change my seat.”

“No.” Alexis shook her head. Something about being seperated, really separate, frightened her. “No need. I’m fine.”

“Are you certain? I saw your math quiz results. And… there’s a rumor going around that you kissed a girl a couple weeks ago, and that that’s why you have joined the sport of running.”

Alexis froze.

“I do not mind if you kiss girls. However, it would seem that our parents might mind, so we should probably address this rumor.” Logan paused, but Alexis was barely breathing, let alone listening. “Is it a rumor?” 

“Get out of my room.” She groaned. “Please.” Quieter.

“All… okay. Okay.” Logan stood up, stretching. “Perhaps I could run with you sometime. What would you think if I joined the track team? Papa keeps saying I need an extracurricular.” 

“Sure.” Alexis was barely listening, still in her own panicked thoughts. “Fine.”

“Excellent. I shall approach the coach tomorrow afternoon.” 

Alexis wasn’t listening. She was back at drawing, blinking back stinging tears, wondering if it would be suspicious if she quit the team altogether. She wrote in the corner,  _ You can only see the stars at night. _

Tonight, there seemed to be clouds hovering over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments feed my ego. (Also I love you if you comment.)


	3. Patton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, get aboard the feels train.
> 
> Warnings: Abuse mention

Dear Curt,

 

Wow! What a day it’s been. I keep thinking about joining a sports team. It seems like there’s a lot of people on sports teams, you know? More than on academic teams. Whenever I’m in Mr. Beatle’s room and we’re going over formulas for chemistry or the math team I don’t even feel like I’m there, you know? 

I wish my parents were home more. Then maybe I’d write to you less, you know? 

How are you? You doing okay? 

I hope so. I hope you’re okay. 

I don’t know what to write about today.

Sincerely,

Patton

 

Dear Curt,

 

Well, I made an idiot of myself today. We were going over this thing in history class and Mrs. Beeman called on me and I blurted out C. Long story short, C was… wrong.

I don’t know what to think some days. 

What do you write about when all you feel is loneliness?

Sincerely, 

Patton

 

Dear Curt,

 

I have to think of a better way of dealing with this stuff. Someone’s going to see right through me. 

I wonder sometimes if my parents are paying attention to all the music I’m listening to, but I don’t think they care.

There’s a boy I think…. I don’t know. Can I like boys? He’s handsome, smart, funny… also the most popular guy in school. There’s no way he’d go out with me. No one even knows who I am.

Last week, no one even wished me happy birthday except the Mathletes teacher, and that doesn’t really count.

My parents put a cake on the counter and said because I’m sixteen I’m too old for birthday parties. I feel like they knew I didn’t have anyone to invite. We kind of ate it in silence sitting around the dining table. 

I’m sixteen. Wow. I wish that they’d sang me happy birthday.

We learned how to sing happy birthday in french this week. I sang it to myself later in the shower. I didn’t even get sad. 

Sincerely,

Patton

 

Dear Curt, 

 

I think I saw Logan Goubert get into a fight with his sister today. Some people say they’re twins,  but they don’t look or act anything alike. I’ve never heard of twins fighting. 

I don’t really know what’s going on there.

I’m sitting here in the Mathletes room alone. Sometimes the track team runs by. It’s amazing how much of who we are is tied to these places, like this school. 

It seems like everyone just relies on me to tell jokes, and no one really cares how I am.

Sincerely, 

Patton

 

Dear Curt,

 

Sixteen is too old for this, isn’t it?

Sincerely, 

Patton 

 

Dear Curt,

 

I’m sorry. Please don’t leave. I don’t have anyone else.

I’m really really sorry. Please dont’ go. I need someone to talk to. Anyone. Please. I’m really very sorry.

I would die if anyone got ahold of this diary. I couldn’t explain who you are if I tried.

So please don’t go.

Sincerely, 

Patton

 

Dear Curt,

 

I think he looked at me today. You know, the guy? I’m afraid to write his name down. I’m afraid of liking him. He’s so beautiful, you know? He’s just so beautiful to look at. 

If my mom gets ahold of this, I’m dead.

I don’t really know what to do. I don’t know if he’s looking at me or if he just looked in my general direction. 

Every time I’m near him I get all…. Stupid. 

He said a big word, I don’t know what, and then I said I knew big words too and the only thing I could think of was saxophone. 

That’s not really a big word. That’s just like, a word.

Oh my god.

Sincerely, 

Patton

  
  


Dear Curt,

 

School is stupid and no one can convince me otherwise. 

He picked you up today. You know that? I dropped all my books and he was like “What’s this?” Like it was any of his business!

I took you back, but it was close. I couldn’t let him find out.

Oh geez, I’m so paranoid that someone will want to read this. Should I stop writing to you? Who else am I going to talk to? 

I don’t know what to do sometimes.

Mom says we can go to a movie this weekend, for my birthday. It feels like that won’t help. She’s always cooing me and trying to baby me. I’m sixteen and you wouldn’t sing me happy birthday but I’m still your little boy? How should I feel about that?

She even cleans my room sometimes. I don’t know what I’d do if she read you.

Shit.

Sincerely, 

Patton

  
  


Dear Curt,

 

There was a party for the Mathletes today. The teacher says it was for my birthday, but I don’t really believe her. Some people said happy birthday, but it was on me to entertain and make jokes. On my own birthday thing! Ugh! 

Well, I guess that’s that, but what are you gonna do? 

I can’t be funny all the time. 

Logan Goubert joined the Mathletes, but it interferes with track practice - his own words - so why even join? The teacher let him stay because he’s number one in his year, he’s super smart. He’s also a know-it-all and I’m getting tired of him being annoyed with my puns. 

Stupid freaking Logan Goubert.

Sincerely, 

Patton

  
  


Dear Curt,

 

Logan came over yesterday and it didn’t go well. My mom asked if we wanted spaghetti, we said that was fine. Good study food, garlic bread is. Anyway, so we’re studying, waiting for dinner, and we hear something downstairs. I tell Logan it’s nothing but he insisted on looking, and of course my dad’s having a bad day. Yelling and swearing and just being loud in general. He didn’t want spaghetti. He wanted to order a pizza. My mom pointed out we can’t afford that, and Logan saw my dad hit her. I tried to explain to him that this happens, it’s okay, he’s not a bad guy, but he didn’t want to hear it. We went back to my room - we spied from the hallway, which felt bad to me - and my mom came in and said she’d called Logan’s mom to come get him. His sister came instead and I don’t know if he told her or not. 

This is why I can’t have friends over. 

My dad’s not a bad guy. He just gets mad sometimes. 

Later that night he bought us all pizza, so it’s okay right? 

I mean it’s not okay what happened but he said sorry and I think he really means it this time, I don’t think it’ll happen again.

Sincerely,

Patton   
  


 

Dear Curt,

 

Logan won’t leave me alone now. He keeps saying he has to call CPS or something. I keep telling him I’m fine. Any time I hit my arm on something he asks if it was my dad, but it wasn’t, but he doesn’t believe me. He keeps hounding me at school, sitting by me at lunch, and even going to the bathroom with me. It’s getting really annoying. 

I don’t know what to do about it, you know? My dad’s been fine since that happened. The other day I came home to flowers on my mom’s desk (she works from home now) so that’s something, I think.

I mean, is it though? Logan’s filling my head with all these doubts about my dad and really, I don’t like it, not one bit. 

So my dad lies. Okay. But he says sorry. Is that a lie too? I don’t really know if it is or not.

Hmm.

I don’t know what to say sometimes to you. You always listen, but it’s not like you really have a choice. 

I wish you’d write back.

Sincerely, 

Patton


	4. Margret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yahoo!Answers is sometimes the only place you feel you can turn.
> 
> No warnings for this chapter.

Question: I’m worried about my son?

 

**MargieMom:** Hi everyone. This is my first post on Yahoo! Answers so I’m sorry if I don’t sound like a “cool” kid. I’m worried about my son and don’t know who else to ask. It’s just and my sister seems far away. My parents have passed away so I can’t ask them. 

My son is sixteen, and I know teenagers are moody but hear me out. This kid is ridiculous though. Sometimes he doesn’t come out of his room and refuses to go to school for days. He says he’s anxious. I tried taking him to our doctor but the doctor said he was fine. 

I’ve noticed him listening to grunge music, and when he was a kid he hated that stuff. He used to be super happy and bubbly and almost annoying, he was so happy. Now he’s in the bathroom dying his hair different colors, wearing eyeliner, and being incredibly secretive. He won’t tell me anything. He just hangs out in his room or doesn’t come home at all. I tried being nice and asking him if he wanted to go out for ice cream, getting pizza, letting things slide, but then he started being disrespectful towards me and calling me names. I tried taking away his phone and his laptop but he still stays out super late or just stays in his room with headphones on listening to his radio. I don’t want to take away everything, I want to give his phone and things back, but I don’t think he can be trusted with them right now.

I’m just really worried. I want to give him space to grow up but I’m worried that he’s depressed. His grades are slipping and his teachers are calling me telling me I’m a bad parent because of how he’s acting in class. He’s telling teachers off and listening to music - right there in class! I don’t know where he got a walkman.

I’m worried he’s on drugs or is hiding something from me. Maybe he’s gay and kids are teasing him? I know they tease him about his name, but his father’s name was Virgil and I want him to know his father was a good person and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Bullying with the internet gets so out of hand and I’m worried about him!

Some moms please help, I really need advice! 


	5. Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration pulled from the song The Night We Met by Lord Huron.
> 
> No warnings for this chapter.

Wind rushed by his face, his hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. A classroom went by his vision. In it, a boy about his age sat by a window, humming. Logan paused, listening, knowing he was far behind the other members of the track team, even behind his twin. He paused, just before the doorway, eavesdropping on the private world of the student inside.

“I had all and then most of you…. Some and then none of you…”

He paused. The student was a base, and had a lovely voice. He breathed as quietly as he could, also knowing the song. It had come up on Alexis’s running playlist.

He breathed along with the student, whispering to his voice, “Take me back to the night we met.”

Then, together, almost allowing himself to be heard, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you…Take me back to the night we met.”

Logan paused, hearing the student sniffle, and looked through the edge of the door through the blind. He jumped back immediately.

Surely that wasn’t Roman Peterson. Roman, who made fun of the choir kids, who made fun of nerds, who was always getting into fights. He peeked around, looking inside again, and stopped.

Roman Peterson was standing there, letter jacket around his shoulders, face red.

Logan paused. He could keep running, but then Roman would realize he had been seen - but he had already been seen by the other track kids. He could walk in, figure out what was wrong, but Roman had been relentless in his teasing of Logan time and time again.

Roman seemed to be done singing, now staring out into the courtyard in the middle of the school with a look that made it very clear he was very distant from reality.

Or so Logan thought.

“You know, they’re going to come back around. You should catch up instead of just standing there.”

Logan felt his heart catch in his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to intrude upon your privacy.”

“It’s fine.” Roman turned towards him and Logan noted his nose was red, as if rubbed raw. “I should be at basketball practice.”

“Why aren’t you?” Logan asked, finding himself leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed.

Roman shrugged. “Suspended because Mark punched me in the face.”

“Was he also punished in kind?” Logan remembered how everyone had been bustling outside the school grounds on the day of the fight between the two.

“No. He got off with ISR.” Roman sighed. “Figures. Asshole.”

Logan blushed at the intense language. “Why are you here then?”

“Because my dad still thinks I have basketball.” Roman replied quickly.

“Aren’t you part of the popular crowd?” Logan asked, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah?” Roman crossed his arms now. “What about it?”

“Well, don’t you have a friend’s house you can go to? Would you like to come with me? Track is almost over.” Logan glanced above the chalkboard, where an old fashioned analog hung. “I’m certain my mother won’t mind someone tagging along.”

“I don’t need a pity invite. I have friends.” Roman shook his head and looked away. “I just don’t have a phone to call them with.”

“I can lend you my cellular device. It is in my gym locker at the moment.” It was Logan’s turn to shrug. “I don’t care much for you, Roman, but you seem distressed. I apologize that my attempt at kindness distressed you further. I will leave you alone.”

“Wait!”

Logan turned, looking at Roman from the doorway, looking at how Roman was gradually silhouetted in the late afternoon sun. “I’m sorry. I’m a dumbass. I’ll - I can come over if - can I?”

Logan listened, detecting something he had heard many times in his twin’s voice when she was upset. “Yes. You may. But I have to finish this lap. I will meet you at the main doors and we can wait for Alexis.”

“Alexis?” Roman frowned, following Logan out of the classroom. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Hardly. Alexis is my twin.” Logan replied. And then, at the sudden seeing of his coach down the hallway, he jogged off.

The song went through his head as he ran, thinking about Roman, wondering who he wanted to go back to.

 

* * *

  


Logan glanced at his rearview, looking at Roman as he looked out the window. He glanced at Alexis, whose makeup had sweated off in their run. He took a deep inhale and smelled their sweat and, with that, pushed his button to roll down the window.

“So. What’s your letter for?”

Logan glanced over at Alexis, who was turned around in her seat, eyeing Roman suspiciously.

“Basketball.” Roman said quietly.

Logan reflected on this. Roman? Quiet?

“I suck at running. I don’t know why I’m doing it.” Alexis spun back around and looked at Logan a moment, then out the window, humming along to the radio. She paused. “Can I quit the team?”

“You could if you so desire. But I would like to remind you that I joined for your benefit.” Logan replied, coming to a stop as the car pulled up to their house. He shifted the gear and put the car into park as Alexis walked out of the car, backpack slung over one shoulder. He sighed.

“For twins, you two don’t really get along, do you?”

Logan looked back at Roman, then out at Alexis, who was already opening the front door. “She’s a lot more emotional than she wants to admit.”

“Huh.” Roman nodded. “You know you’re gonna have to take me home later, right?”

“Yes.” Logan nodded, chuckling. “I know that.”

“Okay.” Roman began to climb out of the car, and after a moment, Logan followed suit.

* * *

  


“So, Roman, Alexis told us you’re a star athlete.”

Logan chewed on his spaghetti, noting how his mother and father both seemed to dote on Roman. It was quite funny, actually, how Roman seemed unused to the attention, how he seemed genuinely surprised by everything about their house. It was interesting, like watching an animal in a foreign habitat try and acclimate.

“Yeah. I play some basketball.” Roman shrugged, blushing slightly.

Logan swallowed, noting the change in attention here versus the attention he had seen Roman seek multiple times in the french class they shared.

“He’s better than me at it. I can’t shoot for shit.” Alexis muttered.

“Language.” Logan watched as his father gave Alexis a reprimanding look. Alexis nodded and said nothing in response.

Logan bit off another chunk of bread, watching as Roman ate just a little too quickly.

* * *

  


Logan watched Roman hesitate, his hand on the door handle, as they sat in front of his house.

“Can we pull around back?”

Logan nodded, driving the car around the block and behind the alley, driving slowly, watching the expression on Roman’s face change from fear to relief.

“See you at school!” Roman stood up from the car, then swung around. “Oh. Thanks for dinner. It was great.”

“I will see you later.” Logan reassured him. He watched, waiting for Roman to disappear into his house before driving away, singing to himself.

“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you… Take me back to the night we met…”


End file.
